To Hear The Lark Begin His Flight,

Take Heed Lest Passion Sway Thy Judgement To Do Aught, Which Else Free Will Would Not Admit.

Neither Prosperity Nor Empire Nor Heaven Can Be Worth Winning At The Price Of A Virulent Temper, Bloody Hands, An Anguished Spirit, And A Vain Hatred Of The Rest Of The World.

Fate Shall Yield To Fickle Chance, And Chaos Judge The Strife.

In Discourse More Sweet; For Eloquence The Soul, Song Charms The Sense. Others Apart Sat On A Hill Retir'd, In Thoughts More Elevate, And Reason'd High Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, And Fate, Fix'd Fate, Free-will, Foreknowledge Absolute; And Found No End, In Wand'ring Mazes Lost.

Freely We Serve, Because Freely We Love.